the next man who comes with empty pockets. While they
are with us, they all live in the same comfort, and have their equal
share in the same profits--deducting the sum in reverse for sudden calls
and bad times. If they leave us, the man who has brought money with
him has his undisputed right to take it away again; and the man who has
brought none bids us good-bye, all the richer for his equal share in the
profits which he has personally earned. The only fuss at our place about
money that I can remember was the fuss about my five hundred a year. I
wanted to hand it over to the fund. It was my own, mind--inherited from
my mother's property, on my coming of age. The Elders wouldn't hear of
it: the Council wouldn't hear of it: the general vote of the Community
wouldn't hear of it. 'We agreed with his father that he should decide
for himself, when he grew to manhood'--that was how they put it. 'Let
him go back to the Old World; and let him be free to choose, by the test
of his own experience, what his future life shall be.' How do you think
it will end, Mr. Hethcote? Shall I return to the Community? Or shall I
stop in London?"

Mr. Hethcote answered, without a moment's hesitation. "You will stop in
London."

"I'll bet you two to one, Sir, he goes back to the Community."

In those words, a third voice (speaking in a strong New England accent)
insinuated itself into the conversation from behind. Amelius and Mr.
Hethcote, looking round, discovered a long, lean, grave stranger--with
his face overshadowed by a huge felt hat. "Have you been listening to
our conversation?" Mr. Hethcote asked haughtily.

"I have been listening," answered the grave stranger, "with considerable
interest. This young man, I find, opens a new chapter to me in the book
of humanity. Do you accept my bet, Sir? My name is Rufus Dingwell; and
my home is at Coolspring, Mass. You do _not_ bet? I express my regret,
and have the pleasure of taking a seat alongside of you. What is your
name, Sir? Hethcote? We have one of that name at Coolspring. He is much
respected. Mr. Claude A. Goldenheart, you are no stranger to me--no,
Sir. I procured your name from the steward, when the little difficulty
occurred just now about the bird. Your name considerably surprised me."

"Why?" Amelius asked.

"Well, sir--not to say that your surname (being Goldenheart) reminds
one unexpectedly of _The Pilgrim's Progress_--I happen to be already
acquainted with you. By reputation